


Anatomy (of a Butterfly)

by kanames_harisen



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Introspection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanames_harisen/pseuds/kanames_harisen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He understood more for his silence than the majority of them did for their action. </p><p>// Eight interconnecting ficlets / All prompts are based on a part of a butterfly's physiology //</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scales

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto. I am merely playing in the sandbox he has created. I am most definitely not receiving any monetary compensation for my child's play.

Even as a small child, Chouji was keenly aware of the imbalance of justice that permeated the society in which he lived.

Physical beauty trumped character, while family name was given more weight than the integrity of an individual's deeds. So he - a rotund young man with beady eyes from an unassuming, journeyman-class shinobi line - was deemed unattractive and unworthy of attention by most of his peers. It was a cruel lesson dealt to him at a tender, formative age. He could have let the crushing disappointment percolate, turning it into something darker, something uglier, something akin to hate for those who had what he did not. But he didn't. He chose to take the hand fate had offered, standing with the few who could see through the inconsequential, to become a man of fortitude.

And when he was asked to prove his mettle, Chouji stepped up without reservation.

The refusal to give into self-pity all those years ago had built a fortress of strength within the young man, both metaphorical and actual, and he fought with all he had for one who hadn't earned the right to that sacrifice. For one who, despite having everything Chouji didn't, chose to pour all his energy into grieving the one thing which had been taken from him, letting darkness seethe just under the skin-deep splendor that hid his traitorous heart.

Battle revealed what had been hidden in each in an interesting juxtaposition.

One had power overflowing in graceful form, fashioned by loyalty and self-sustained might. The other's constitution was corrupt, twisted from without and within: an unsightly manifestation of barrenness of character. The boy of noble heart, wounded in victory, closed his eyes in near-permanent rest, dreamed of clouds in a sky the color of her blue, blue eyes, and was at peace. The other, achieving a stalemate rather than success, would find serenity elusive, never within his grasp.


	2. Abdomen

Table muscle, he heard it called once by a wizened old man, the kind owner of a humble dango stand that Chouji had the pleasure of befriending during a diplomatic mission in Suna. The man had meant nothing by it, of course, simply referring to the gusto in which the ninja ate his simple fare; it had pleased the man greatly to see someone enjoy his food so much. At the time, Chouji supposed it was the most positive spin anyone had ever put on his physique and had thanked him for it.

But over the years many different incarnations had been flung his way.

Chubby.

Big-boned.

Heavy.

Chunky.

Flabby.

Overweight.

Stout.

Hefty.

Plump.

Obese.

 _Fat_.

Each one had a varying degree of negative emotion attached to it in his mind, regardless of the context, whether insult or accolade, in which the term had been used. It bothered him that others made negative judgments about him based on physicality alone. Oh, they might not say as much, but the inferences, the _implications_ , were present in the tone that slid from their tongues. Perhaps as a genin he had been a bit lazy and, on occasion, gave into his gluttonous side. But as an adult, as a shinobi, he took his responsibilities very seriously. There was little he could do about his bloodline traits; all members of the Akimichi clan were subject to the calorie-chakra relationship. What his size took away from him in speed, he more than made up for in stamina. Yet, even after all he had accomplished, most still recognized him by his size.

Honestly, he wished his primary identifier was something more flattering than his mass.

Why couldn't people focus on his facial tattoos or his mane of auburn hair? Or better yet, his strength on the battlefield?

His aspirations to be known as someone other than the _big_ _guy_ quickly became an exercise in futility. Not that Chouji didn't try. Over the course of a few weeks, initiated just after passing the chuunin exams, the shinobi randomly threw out monikers for himself, like _The Fist of Justice_ or _The Crimson Death_ , hoping that one would stick. His teammates, usually with a giggle and a grimace, shut him down each and every time. Nicknames, he ultimately discerned, only stuck when other people gave them.

(The one exception he had found had been _The Green Beast of Konoha_ , but people mostly just went along with Gai out of pity or fear).

Eventually he gave in and accepted what he could not change, after a surprising pep-talk from Ino about _owning it_. 

"After all, not many are blessed with the brawn you naturally have," the blonde had quipped. "I depend on it during combat, you know."

Brawn became his new favorite expression.


	3. Metamorphasis

The event that marked Chouji's ascent into adulthood was not related to any of the more traditional rights of passage for a man.

It was not when he received his hitae-ite, the symbol of his worthiness as a shinobi of the leaf. He was still much too young at heart then to feel the full weight of what it meant. Nor was it his first major victory in battle. That only served, as he was brought home clinging to life by a mere thread, to prove just how much more work there was to be done before he could consider himself dependable. For a brief moment he felt it, when presented with his earring by his beloved sensei, but now the metallic stud was a reminder of what he could not protect. And when he had the chance to redeem that, even just a little bit, by standing against the shell of his former leader, his courage failed him. No, his first experience with war did not celebrate him as man either.

Instead it happened on a quiet night, a few weeks after Chouji's twentieth birthday, in a dimly lit alleyway behind a seedy bar.

On the way back to his cheap apartment after a two day patrol mission, he came across a group of men harassing a young woman. As he approached, intent on breaking up the gathering, he realized the woman was none other than Ino and that, despite putting up a brave front, she was physically overwhelmed. The fire in his chest caused him to react more violently than he ought, though no serious injuries were inflicted, and it was soon just the two of them.

"I was just leaving, you know. I didn't ask them to follow me." The girl's gruff voice, thick with muted emotion, broke the silence between them as she held her chin high. "It's not like I flirted with those idiots. Hell, I didn't _even_ talk to them. Just because a girl's got a reputation doesn't mean she'll screw anybody that asks."

"I know." His hushed reply was accompanied by his hand gently resting on her head. "You're not that kind of girl."

"How do you know?" Her demeanor was still a bit defiant, but her eyes watched him carefully, testing what he had to say next.

"Because you only do it if it's for a mission and even then, it breaks your heart. If any of those idiots paid half-attention, it'd be obvious." He covered her hand with his. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

When they reached Ino's apartment, she pulled him down, tugging timidly on his hair. "You're a good man, Chouji," the blonde whispered into his ear. "Thank you."

Then, she kissed his cheek and ran inside without looking back.

Chouji stood there, fingers lightly touching his cheek, awestruck. And as he pondered her words, he decided he would do his best to live up to them.


	4. Head

Chouji had always considered her physically beautiful. How could he not when she had practically beaten the idea into his head everyday since they had become a team? It wasn't something he dwelt on, though. It was merely a fact, like _'the sky is blue'_ or _'Shikamaru is lazy'_ , so he had filed it away in the part of his mind sectioned off for conditioned responses. When she asked, the affirmative response was automatic, no more thinking involved than when asked if he wanted a second helping of barbeque.

But lately, the responses came less quickly than before, accompanied by pink cheeks and nervous twitching. And while Chouji couldn't pinpoint the _why_ exactly, he knew the _when_. It started the night he'd walked her home and she'd kissed his cheek, out of gratitude (of course) and nothing more. But his mind had taken to wandering off, analyzing every detail of that night. There was a fragility about her then that he had never seen before and for the first time he realized that there was more to the girl than she let people see.

Actually, that was wrong.

He had always seen it, but only now was he letting the facts filter through the whole of his mind, ruminating on past memories to find what he was missing.

After a couple weeks, his musings left the past and moved towards the future. It hadn't been done purposefully. On the contrary, the train of thought only began after he awoke with a start after a particularly titillating dream involving golden hair and azure eyes and soft, soft skin. The vision would not leave him, so he allowed himself to get lost in the _what ifs_. And though some of them were sexual in nature, that wasn't what it was about, not for him. Rather, it was a cerebral exercise, a process by which he was trying to learn the _why_ behind this change in the way he perceived her.

It wasn't until they were out on a mission and she was in his arms, trusting him implicitly to protect her during her jutsu, that everything clicked into place.

He only protected those he loved.


	5. Antennae

Chouji was well aware of the impact of first impressions.

The argument could be made that his team was a prime example of why ninja should not put their trust in such notions. Shikamaru came off as indifferent, half-hearted in all his efforts. In reality, he was the strategic mind of his generation and he was still undeveloped; he would probably surpass all the great minds in Konoha's history. Ino, with her provocative clothing and boisterous mannerisms, caused most to see her as a shallow airhead. Only combat revealed the woman who could control her mark with but a thought. As for himself, most enemies disregarded Chouji completely. To them, he was just a dullard of a fat man clinging desperately to his chip bag. It didn't take long for Chouji to beat that idea from their minds.

Misperceptions didn't bother Chouji on the battlefield; they gave him a tactical advantage. These false impressions did perturb the man in his personal life. He was known to be a genial man, loyal and fierce, but lacking knowledge of social nuances, preferring to think on edible things instead. It wasn't that Chouji was opposed to any of these ideals; truly, he understood that he was all these things to a certain degree. Rather, what bothered him was that by some he was _only_ thought of in these terms. Sure, Chouji was friendly and loyal, but he was not a pushover. His jutsu relied on force rather than subtlety, but his mind was quick. He hid behind his ever-present bag of chips, but the man was highly observant, watching the intricate social dance of others. Just because he spoke little did not mean Chouji was ignorant of the ways of his peers.

He understood more for his silence than the majority of them did for their action.

So when Chouji acknowledged his feelings for her, if only to himself, he was disturbed to note that Ino had been among those that he felt misjudged him. Unsure of what to do, the man continued his course of non-action, merely choosing to observe her, all his senses working together as feelers to gather information. What he discovered surprised him greatly. The blonde seemed aware of his attentions, but made no move to repress them. On the contrary, Chouji found that she often met his gaze with her blue, blue eyes, gently smiling as a soft blush played upon her cheeks. And then, before anyone else could become privy to it, Ino would coyly turn away.

Glances turned into touches, starting small and casual - a playful tug on his hair or a warm hand on his forearm - but eventually grew more intimate. They became a whisper in his ear as she said goodbye, her leg brushing against his under the table, and the trace of her fingers up his spine. Eventually, Ino threatened to control him, taking matters into her own hands, if he didn't kiss her.

Chouji took action.


	6. Thorax

Combat held no fear over Chouji.

He had already seen death's door, knelt at its very threshold, and that experience had shown the man that there was no shame in entering that place for those who laid down their lives for the sake of others; indeed, their sacrifice would be rewarded. Free from that natural anxiety, Chouji was fierce in battle and, while not reckless, he took numerous risks that many were not so willing to.

While Chouji's own mortality did not sway his actions, there was most certainly a terror tattooed upon his heart.

At times, it would grieve him with visions and nightmares, twisting around his core in an icy grip of dread. The seeds had been sown at the death of his sensei. It was then he realized those left behind suffer much more than those that move on. His new quasi-relationship with Ino, lost somewhere between friends and not-quite lovers, caused his fears to grow, to take root. When sent on missions with her, Chouji was mindful of her position and situation. The shinobi was ever her vigilant protector, not above tearing threats literally limb from limb. If Ino was sent out with another team, the man was a dark cloud of barely-restrained malevolence, hidden behind a tentative smile, until she safely returned home.

Circumstance chose to test his heart.

Team 10's mission had gone seriously awry, their marks having greater skill than the reconnaissance had disclosed, before Shikamaru was able to end the encounter in success. The victory was not without its sacrifice. Ino, exhausted of chakra, had taken a kunai slash to her midsection before the enemy had been sewn up in shadow. The wound was deep and flowing, and neither man had the ability to do more than rudimentary first-aid. They returned to the village in a rush, the girl cradled in Chouji's large arms as she bled out, in hopes that all would not be lost. After hours spent waiting, battle-stained and weary of entertaining the nagging _what ifs_ , the reprieve finally came.

Relief took Chouji to his knees, his friend's hand on his shoulder for support, and grateful tears streamed freely from his ducts. When the medics finally allowed him an audience with Ino, Chouji held her hand, gently kissing every abrasion and cut, before going to his knees once again.

Chouji realized that he couldn't fear to lose what wasn't his to begin with, and so he made her his.


	7. Wings

He held her hand, while his other gripped a hidden pocket inside his kimono, and the couple ran. The temporary retreat was a necessity. They had been ambushed on their way home from a much-needed holiday and were not expecting to go on an offensive. That was not to say they were unprepared; a ninja is _always_ at the ready. But strategy had to be accounted for.

The blonde, his wife of three years and counting, was ailing at the moment, sluggish despite her usually nimble feet and unable to steady her chakra. Tsunade had given a prescription of rest, administered with a smile, and taken Ino off the active duty roster. Chouji was not yet privy to the details of the examination, but he was assured that everything was fine. That reassurance did little to comfort him in their current situation.

Their assailant was in Chouji's bingo book, a rogue-nin known for his genetic experiments on kunoichi of child-bearing age. The perversions he afflicted were enough that even the Bloody Mist was ashamed to call him its own. The shinobi had yet to speak a word, but Chouji knew that Ino was his mark. Pressure gnawed at his husband-heart.

**Three pills.**

Chouji had never used them in her presence before. He knew that she feared them, afraid that they would be the cause of him slipping through this life and into the next without her. Conversely, though he did want to save her that anguish, the thought of using them before her brought up old insecurities for Chouji.

_What if she preferred this form instead?_

With no other options, Chouji turned to fight. His wife looked on, her horror shown in the slight widening of her eyes, as he swallowed the small sphere of green. It wasn't nearly enough. His opponent had taijutsu to rival that of Lee, or even Gai, and targeted Ino often, forcing Chouji to sacrifice his body to protect hers.

**Two pills.**

The yellow one went down more easily than the first and the change in Chouji's ability took the other by surprise. With every blow landed, Ino's face lit up with more hope. The rout was nearly complete before the rogue-nin finally played his last card and turned the tides again.

**One pill.**

Bitterness slid down Chouji's throat as he looked back at Ino, the red pill getting stuck on her tears. The man had no time to fathom the husband's newly found speed or strength; the deviant's head was crushed in the next instant. The emaciated man gently lifted his wife and sped through the forest on the last of his chakra.

He got them within sensing range of Konoha and Ino, with much strain, sent a mental plea to her father, but Chouji was already floating away. The blonde grabbed his too-thin hand and covered her belly with it, whispering frantically into his ear. Her words grounded him and made him soar all at once.

_You're going to be a father._


	8. Life Cycle

Pure white sterility, punctuated by mechanical whirring and piercing tubes, greeted the man upon opening his eyes. He tried to right himself, but his limbs were heavy from disuse and his middle was weighed down by a drowsy flaxen head. His movements, minute though they were, startled her into consciousness. Blinking her blue, blue eyes, Ino's mind caught up to the situation at hand. After the initial flood of relief, she appeared torn between her need to embrace him and her want to beat him senseless for the worry he caused. Chouji's attempts at speech were hindered by the artificial tube maintaining his airway. Tsunade, who was personally seeing to his recovery, was soon retrieved and upon her approval, pleased by his state of health, the devices connected to the man, save for his medicinal drip, were removed.

The medical staff exited, leaving the man alone with his wife. Chouji tried to speak, but little more than rough, dry coughs were the result. A button was pushed, inclining him, and a cup of cool, soothing water was brought to his lips, cradled with care by hands that he loved more than anything in the world. They were dangerous, deadly hands, capable of savagery when needed. But they were more often gentle and kind, concerned with serving others and faithfully holding his heart.

"Come here." Chouji's throat burned with the effort of forcing out his voice. His hands lethargically motioned to his lap. Her response was the immediate, though careful, positioning of herself beside him. Ino wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. Chouji shook his head. "No. I want you on me."

Her face went blank for a moment before something akin to shock was displayed. "A hospital is no place for that, Chouji Akimichi."

He ignored his wife's disapproval and tried to position her as he wanted. His fatigued muscles would not allow for it, so Chouji turned pleading eyes on her. After a moment of waffling, her defeat was complete, as was her indignation. The woman placed one knee on either side of his hips while she defiantly crossed her arms. Thin hands walked up the backs of her thighs, forcing her off her haunches. Now vertical, her naval was level with his nose. Chouji coaxed her into releasing her arms while he slowly rolled up her shirt. A single hand held it in place, his thumb grazing the underside of her left breast with long fingers wrapping around her ribs. His other hand wound around the small of her back, tugging her close.

"Chouji, you're in no condition for this." Her voice held the bite of warning.

"It's okay, Ino." His face upturned, a full lopsided smile causing his eyes to disappear into the creases of his lids. Soft lips planted a warm kiss to the underside of her belly button before Chouji buried his head against his wife's stomach. "I'm just greeting our child."


End file.
